


According to Plan

by lears_daughter



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Dark!Maura, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/lears_daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hoyt told Maura that she was like him, he was flattering himself.  He was also more right than he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	According to Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I have no actual medical knowledge.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Rizzoli and Isles.

It would take a day, she learned after a few carefully worded questions to the right people, for the paperwork to go through authorizing Hoyt’s transfer back to prison and out of Boston PD custody.  Until then, he was being held in the same interrogation room, under full restraint and with two guards present at all times.

She drew the scalpel down the dead man’s chest, his skin parting easily under the faintest of pressure.  She kept her knives very sharp.  Probably the man had killed himself, Detective Grayson had told her, but best that she make sure before they decided there was no case there.

She glanced at the clock.  It was a little before six.  She’d wait a couple more hours before making her move.

“Hey.”

Maura jerked, almost impaling her own thumb with the needle.  Careless.  Normally she could never be taken by surprise in her own morgue.  She made two last stitches, closing up the corpse.  Except for the sewn up Y on his chest, he looked as if he could have been sleeping.  She cut the thread then carefully placed the needle and leftover thread on the table.

Steeling herself, she looked at Jane.  “Hi,” she said.

Jane looked as bad as she’d expected.  Unlike Maura, Jane almost never took pains with her appearance—but then, unlike Maura, Jane usually managed to make exhausted, hung over, beaten up, and pissed off—all together or in any possible combination—look good.  Not today, though.  Today her eyes were hollow over her too-thin cheeks, her hair was a mess—rather than messily practical—and her hands were shaking at her sides.

Jane had nearly lost Frankie yesterday.  Maura had nearly lost Jane.

Maura checked the clock again.  It was seven thirty.  Jane shouldn’t even have been at work today.  Frankie hadn’t hesitated to take the day off.

Gradually Maura became aware that she and Jane were just standing there, staring at each other, and had been for almost three minutes.  Usually Jane took the lead in their interactions, knowing that Maura was content to follow.  Today, it seemed, she needed some help.

“How are you?” Maura asked, stripping off her forensic gloves and tossing them in the disposal bin.  She walked toward Jane slowly, as she might approach a frightened animal.

Jane waved her hand in a gesture that said nothing at all.  “I need a drink,” she said, and her voice was rougher than usual, the way it only got when she was very angry or very fragile.

Maura wanted to take Jane in her arms.  She wanted to stroke her hair, to kiss her, to tell her that she would protect her from anyone or anything that wished to harm her.

But she couldn’t.  Not yet, anyway.  She hadn’t reached that stage in her plan—probably wouldn’t for a few more months, if her calculations were correct—and Jane wasn’t ready to accept that kind of closeness from her yet.  The only good thing about incidents like yesterday’s was that they were guaranteed to move up her time table.   

“I need about an hour,” Maura said.

The flash of disappointment in Jane’s eyes just about killed her.  She thought about changing her plans for the evening—but no.  She would only have one chance at this, and it was all for Jane anyway.

“How about I meet you there?” Jane said when the silence threatened to go on too long again.

That was a bad idea.  Jane never got drunk around Maura, but left to her own devices, on a night like tonight, who knew what she would do to herself.

“Why don’t you take Frost with you?” Maura suggested.  She felt comfortable leaving Jane with Frost.  Like Korsak, he was harmless.  Not like FBI Agent Dean.  “It would be good for you two to get to know each other better outside of work.”

Jane frowned but didn’t argue, which would have told Maura how shaken the other woman was if her appearance hadn’t been a dead giveaway.  “Is he still at the office?”

“Why don’t you head to the bar and I’ll call and tell him to meet you there.”

Jane nodded.  She turned as if to go, stopped, stared at the wall.  “You will come, though, right?”

Maura gave Jane her warmest smile, though Jane couldn’t see it.  “An hour.  I promise.”

Jane nodded again and left.  The smile fell from Maura’s face and she sagged against the autopsy table, closing her eyes and concentrating on her breathing.

Once she felt more collected she called Frost, who immediately agreed to meet Jane at the bar.  Then she collected her purse and went to the ladies’ room, where she carefully reapplied her makeup and combed her hair.  She rifled through her purse, reassured when she found the small medicine bottle she’d brought from home.  She walked out into the hall and took the elevator up to the main floor.

Someone had recently made a new batch of coffee in the department’s one ancient coffee pot.  Maura poured two cups, then, after making sure that no one was looking, pulled the bottle out of her purse and swiftly added a few drops to each cup.  A cup in each hand, she headed for the interrogation room.

She paused in the observation room only long enough to turn off the audio on the cameras.  Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

Officers Kirkpatrick and Franco stared at her in surprise.  She was glad they were the two who were standing guard tonight; she’d overheard them call her “Doctor Death” once.  Hoyt gazed curiously at her, reclining nonchalantly on his chair, a faint smile playing across his lips.

“I thought you might like some coffee,” Maura said.

Kirkpatrick and Franco exchanged a look.  They reached out in unison to take the cups from her. 

“Thanks, Dr. Isles,” Kirkpatrick said, taking a long gulp of his.

“That hits the spot,” Franco added with a happy sigh.

“No coffee for me, Dr. Isles?” Hoyt said mockingly.

She didn’t grace him with an answer.

“How is guard duty going?” Maura asked, grimacing internally.  Small talk had never been her forte, but she wouldn’t have to stall for long.

Franco shrugged.  “Not much to it, with Hoyt here trussed up like a turkey.  He—”  Franco gasped and doubled over, pressing his fist to his stomach.  “What the hell?” he said.

Kirkpatrick wasn’t any better.  “What was in that coffee, Doc?” he moaned.

“Are you all right?” Maura said, putting her hand on Kirkpatrick’s shoulder to steady him.  She shook her head.  “I’ve been saying for months that we should replace that ancient coffee machine.”

Kirkpatrick groaned and turned an interesting shade of green.  “I’ve got to go.”

“The hell with you,” Franco grunted.  “_I’ve_ got to go.”

“You both should go, if you’re feeling badly,” Maura said kindly.  “Tell the sergeant on your way out and he can send someone to replace you.  I’ll keep an eye on the prisoner in the meantime.”

Franco bolted.  Kirkpatrick, showing more brains—or maybe decency—said, “You sure, Doc?  I don’t like leaving you alone with—oh, God, kill me now.”  His stomach made a loud, disturbing noise.

“Go on,” Maura said.  “I’ll be fine.”

His conscience apparently satisfied, he raced out the door.  Once she could no longer hear his footsteps, Maura closed the door.  She leaned back against it for a moment, her head bowed.  Then she lifted her chin, looked Hoyt in the eye, and gave him a more frightening version of his own grin.

He stared.

She prowled toward him, graceful, predatory.  Here was the other reason she liked to dress up, the reason she’d never told Jane—because a wrinkled suit might convey authority, but gorgeous clothes on a gorgeous woman conveyed _power_.

She didn’t have much time before Kirkpatrick’s and Franco’s replacements arrived, she knew.  That was okay.  This wouldn’t take long.

“Are you going to kill me, Dr. Isles?” Hoyt said.  His voice was mocking, but there was something like worry in his eyes.

Maura perched on the table less than three feet from him, her legs crossed at the knee.

“You tried to frighten me by telling me that I was like you,” she said.

“I’m sorry if the truth hurt your feelings.”

She laughed.  He flushed.  There were few things this man hated more, she knew, than being mocked.

“You don’t have the ability to hurt my feelings,” Maura said.  “You see, Mr. Hoyt—I’m afraid I won’t refer to anyone as ‘doctor’ unless they’ve earned the degree—you really don’t understand the dynamic here.  Oh, we have some similarities, you and I, but there is one very important difference between us.”

“And what’s that?”  She could tell by the tension in his shoulders that his hands were moving under the table, out of sight.

“You are very good at planning, but you’re terrible when it comes to execution.”  Her smile sharpened to show some teeth.  “I am excellent at both.”

His eyebrows drew together, but still he tried to seem unfazed.  “I’d say the ten people I’ve killed would argue that I’m quite good at executions.”  He smirked.  “That is, they would if they could speak.”

Maura shook her head like a teacher disappointed by a child’s behavior.  “Your victims were unimportant.  We both know it.  Jane was the only one who mattered.  How long did you spend planning how you were going to destroy her?  You broke out of prison to go after her.  You brainwashed Emily Stern for months just to kill Jane’s brother in front of her.  You’ve had her in your clutches three times now, and every time you’ve wasted your opportunity.  I mean, come on—you were stupid enough to leave a flare in arm’s reach of a well-trained detective.  One might almost think you have _performance_ issues.”  The table blocked her view of his groin, but she could tell by the way his lips tightened that he’d seen the direction of her gaze.

“I captured her three times,” he gritted out.  “I’ve _tortured_ her three times.  Jane is mine, and she knows it.  And when I get out of jail—”

“But you won’t,” Maura interrupted, still smiling.  “Do you understand what I am saying, Mr. Hoyt?  You will die in jail.  That is _my_ plan.  Unlike you, I always follow through on my plans.”

The fear in his eyes was as sweet as she’d hoped it would be.  He understood that she didn’t simply mean that he would never escape from jail again.  And he understood, as well, that Maura never lied.

She slipped off of the table and moved close enough to him to lean in and whisper in his ear.

“When you said we were alike, you were more right than you knew.  You love Jane when she’s angry?  I love her all the time.  I love every inch of her.  The difference between you and me is that one day, Jane will love me back.  And you?  You, she’ll forget about.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He lunged for her.  This time there were no officers to hold him back.  He’d managed to pick the lock on his cuffs—she blamed Kirkpatrick and Franco for not checking him more thoroughly.  His feet were still chained, but she was standing close enough that her neck was in easy reach of his hands.  All he had to do was wrap them around her neck and squeeze.

He never got the chance.  A flick of her wrist brought the scalpel to her hand and a single swipe nicked his carotid artery.  His hands changed course to wrap around his own neck, his eyes bulging in shock as blood spurted between his fingers. 

Before last night, Maura had never handled a firearm before.  She still hadn’t fired one.  But she knew scalpels, knew how to wield one to cut through flesh, and she knew all the places where the human body was most vulnerable.

A healthy man whose throat was slit could take six minutes to bleed out.  Hoyt’s throat hadn’t been slit, just poked a little, and if he received medical care soon he would be fine, eventually.

Maura pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.  “There’s been an accident at the Boston Police Department,” she reported.  “Send an ambulance.”  She gave them her name and they said that an ambulance would arrive in a few minutes.

Two police officers burst through the door and gaped at the gory scene.  Hoyt’s blood was all over the wall and table.

“Quick, one of you put pressure on the wound,” Maura snapped.  “The ambulance is on its way.”

She left them to keep Hoyt from bleeding to death and went to report to the sergeant in charge.  She didn’t know the man well, but she liked the way he listened to her respectfully and nodded in all the right places as she explained what had happened.

“He went after me,” she said.  “Check the surveillance cameras, you’ll see.  I know that I shouldn’t have gotten so close to him, but I couldn’t help it.  I think he really wanted to kill me.  I…reacted.”  Biting her lip, she set the scalpel on the sergeant’s desk.  There was a faint rust-colored stain on the tip.

“What a mess,” the sergeant said, shaking his head.  “There’s going to be hell to pay for this tomorrow.  I can’t believe Kirkpatrick and Franco left you alone with him in the first place.”

“It wasn’t their fault.  There was something wrong with the coffee.”  She wasn't worried that they would test the coffee and find something.  The compound she'd used wouldn't turn up on any of the standard tests, and no one would bother to investigate further, not for someone like Hoyt.

“There’s no excuse for it.”  He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  “You could have died tonight, Dr. Isles.”

“I’m okay,” she said, but she let her voice quaver.

He looked at her for a long moment.  She tried to look the way Jane had looked when she’d seen her less than an hour ago.

“You know what,” he decided, “why don’t you go home, and I’ll finish taking your statement tomorrow.  Hoyt’s not going anywhere and it was obviously self-defense.”

“I am tired,” she admitted, hitching her purse up her shoulder.

“You want me to call you a cab?” he asked.

“I’ll be okay.”

She stopped by the restroom again on her way out.  She hadn’t gotten any blood on herself.  Her hair and makeup still looked good, but she reapplied her lipstick because Jane was worth it—and Jane would notice, Maura knew, even if Jane didn't consciously _realize_ that she'd noticed.

She walked to their bar.  It was six blocks from the police department, close enough—and safe enough—to walk to alone at night, but far enough that most of the other cops ended up going elsewhere after work.

Frost and Jane were in their usual booth.  Jane was facing the door, her hands wrapped around a beer, a tense, almost angry expression on her face.  She lit up when she saw Maura coming, though.  Frost turned to see who had caught Jane’s attention and bobbed his head in welcome to Maura.

By the time Maura reached the table Frost had started to stand, but when Jane scooted over on her seat he hesitated.  Grinning, Maura took Jane up on the unspoken offer and sat next to her, close enough that she could feel Jane’s warmth against her side.

Stuck in an awkward half-standing, half-sitting position, Frost said, “Uh, should I…”

“Thanks for covering for me,” Maura said.  “I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

He nodded, laid a couple of bills on the table, and bid them goodnight.  A waitress came to their table to take the money and Maura’s order.  Maura ordered her usual wine.  Jane had relaxed a little when Maura came in, but Maura could still feel the tension in the other woman’s body.

Later, Maura would tell Jane an edited version of what had happened.  “I went to see Hoyt, he attacked me, and I managed to nick him with my scalpel.”  Something like that.  Jane would want to go to the hospital to see Hoyt for herself, thinking it would make her feel better, but Maura knew otherwise.  Hoyt’s face was a trigger for Jane and always would be.  So Jane would want to go but Maura would use a low, soothing voice, a brush of her hand down Jane’s arm, to convince her to let it be.  Then she would insist on seeing Jane home—she’d promised Frost, after all—and if all went well she’d end up “meditating” on Jane’s bed for the night.

But all that would happen only when Maura told Jane about Hoyt, and she wanted Jane to relax more first.  So, since her wine hadn’t arrived yet, she stole a gulp of Jane’s beer—it was atrocious stuff, but strangely thrilling to drink—and said, “Suit and tie at the far end of the bar—handcuffs or badge shy?”

Jane had to lean over Maura to see the man she was talking about.  She set her hand on Maura’s leg to steady herself.

“Handcuffs, definitely,” she said, and laughed, the hoarse, sultry laugh that did strange things to Maura’s insides.

Yes, the slow seduction of Jane Rizzoli was going exactly as planned.  And Maura wasn’t going to hesitate or misstep, not once, not until she’d seen it through to the very end. 


End file.
